by Anuradha Bakshi | Apr 1, 2010 | Uncategorized
Recently a friend wrote a short note in the memory of the loss of two of her dear friends. It was a touching note reminiscing about rites de passage that had always been shared and she reminded us that this one too awaited us all. The wisdom was in accepting it and preparing for it in the best manner possible.
I must admit that of late I have often found myself thinking of my final curtain call. Life is made of a plethora of rites de passage, and each bring a new awakening and take us one step further on the road of life. But the last one is different. It is the final high note of the symphony of your life, the one followed by eternal silence. And yes the wisdom is to accept that it is inevitable and that to prepare for it is the best we can do.
It is true that this realisation comes in our twilight years and is often heralded by some event or the other. It can be the sudden and unexpected loss of a dear one or it can be much gentler, like the slow realisation that time that was once your friend and moved slowly, suddenly becomes frenzied as days seem to pass at lightning speed, barely allowing you to catch your breath. This takes me back to my university days when one tried to comprehend the theories of Bergson on time and its duration. We all remember how time sometimes hangs and sometimes simply flies. When we were young this duality of time was associated to pleasant and unpleasant experiences, today it seems otherwise. As age advances time seems to take wings.
This is perhaps a gentle reminder from the Gods that one must put one’s house in order and do it pronto! I just realised mine is a little larger than the conventional ones. So it is time I pulled up my boots and got to work. There is no time left to think, ponder, deliberate or reflect. These are luxuries that are no longer my due. It is time to act and act fast even if it means making some mistakes or slipping a few times. One can always retrace steps or apply some soothing salve. The house has to be set in order. And that above all means that pwhy has to be protected and given a life long lease. The wisdom lies in making the right choices even if they are not the ideal ones. Let us not forget I am now in the queue!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Mar 27, 2010 | Uncategorized
An invitation card for a upmarket promotional do, landed on my desk yesterday. I do not know why such cards come my way! And as always it made me wince. The card looked like a cigar box and was made of outrageously expensive paper. Open the box and in lieu of cigars, you find a card nestled at the bottom soliciting your presence to yet another extravaganza with not only imported food and wine, but imported entertainment.
L, a volunteer, was sitting there and after looking at the card simply said: wonder how many children could be fed with the price of this one card. Strange that she should have mentioned this, as the previous day a TV channel had aired a report about malnutrition in India. The figures was startling, shocking and made one hand one’s head hang in shame: in Madhya Pradesh alone 83 children die of malnutrition every day, and that is just one state of India. And this while surplus grain worth millions rots in what is known as the granary of India.
The amount of extravagantly priced cards that come my way is staggering. I have figured out why I, the proverbial recluse, am on their mailing lists: courtesy the husband’s upmarket club affiliations! PR agencies get hold of club directories and voila! Cards are printed by the zillions and couriered (no post please) and you find yourself invited to dos galore, opening of bedroom and bathroom furniture showrooms, jewellery exhibitions and more of the same. The cards often land unopened in the trashcan! I was tickled pink by a recent ad of a mobile phone company that urged everyone to save trees and use SMSses to communicate everything! Come to think of it it could be cheaper and one had the luxury of the DND (do not disturb) option. With the courier man you are subjected to the door bell ring at all hours of the day, and they have an uncanny habit of coming when you are taking forty winks or have just stepped into your bath. Blessed were the days of the postman: he only rang the bell twice a day!
But bantering apart, time has come for all of us to stop wearing blinkers and start looking at the harsh reality that surrounds us, and not just look but ask ourselves some disturbing questions. The first one is whether we can carry on the way we do without batting an eyelid as if all was well? If the answer is yes then sorry I disturbed you; if the answer is a no even a hesitant one, then comes the next question: how responsible we are and what can we do? My answer was pwhy. A tiny drop in the ocean but nevertheless a beginning.
There are many things around us that should upset if not abhor us. The little child who knocks at your car window every day without fail and who should actually be in school as says the Constitution. The obscene amount of food thrown on the street after religious feeding sprees or outrageous marriages, the mounds of plastic choking every part of the city, the unnecessary breaking and remaking of perfectly sound pavement and roads that remind us of children playing construction games but they do not waste tax payer’s money. And this is just what we see. Open the newspaper or turn on the box and the nightmare continues. Kangaroo courts that decide whether you should live or die, children sold and abused. Many of us express our shock or concern from the comfort of an armchair and then simply procrastinate. Many of us rant and rave a bit while getting ready for the next do one is invited to and then simply forget till the next aberration. Some simply feel it is not our problem as there if a government that is meant to solve all that is not right smug in the comfort that we did our civic duty by casting our vote.
It is time we took a step further and made our voices heard, not just for the page 3 cases needing justice, when we are quick to light candles and stand vigil, but for every single child dying of hunger every 8.7804 minute, one who has no voice and above all no vote.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Mar 24, 2010 | Uncategorized
OK Delhizens loosen your purse strings, your state needs you. You will have to pay your tithe for the honour of hosting the commonwealth games! So from now on everything will cost more: cooking gas, CNG, ghee, tea, coffee, utensils, mobile phones. VAT is being increased from 12 to 20 %. The justification is simple: expenditure on Games projects had exceeded estimates while the “recession” had meant that revenues didn’t keep pace. Whatever that means! The bottom line is that each one of us, rich and poor are going to pay for this useless extravaganza!
The fear of what the CWG would mean to the common Delhizen has been looming large on our heads for some time now. We were fist told of relocation of slums and we feared for our own, mercifully till now we have been spared. Perhaps it is because we are not on the routes the players will take to go around the city. And as we all know, the clean up drive is just cosmetic. Then came the ban on street vendors and that affected us as many of our parents lost their sole mean of livelihood and many their sole source of sustenance. We winced a little but carried on. Last week Delhi’s school children were informed that they would have to go to school till the end of May. That was a shocker. With temperatures already soaring, wonder what the mercury will read come May! Yes the CWG were truly becoming an event to remember.
Finally came the last straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back. As if the recent price rises were not enough, and just when one had finally mastered the art of balancing a budget by stretching a potato or watering a dal, came the final blow: everything would cost more and the reason was to fulfill some delusional fantasy. We wince at every price rise, it is but human, but then we process the matter and assuage our feelings by telling ourselves that the money is meant fr education, development, health of the poor and so on even if we know that the benefits never really reach their destination. But where are the mitigating factors. Will someone enlighten me?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Mar 21, 2010 | Uncategorized
The case of Jennifer H is heart rendering. Imagine being adopted at the age of 8, abused by your adoptive father, moved to 50 foster homes and often abused in each of them and then when you finally have found a way out, had two kids and reclaimed your right to be happy and cared for, being simply deported because the adoption agency goofed up and never processed your papers. A TV channel is currently highlighting the plight adoption cases gone terribly wrong: children abandoned by adoptive parents who separate, children adopted to be used and abused, children stolen to be given in adoption to make a quick buck. The list is endless and each case more tragic than the other.
Adoption is a tricky option. True there are innumerable happy stories, where adopted children are surrounded with love and care. And thank God for that. The reason for this post is not a debate on the pros and cons of adoption per say. I write these words to one again highlight the fact that children are the weakest and most fragile of all beings and cannot be treated like a commodity and cast aside when you have had enough of them or used to fulfill some dark need as is often the case. Just google for ‘adoption gone wrong’ and you will find umpteen shocking tales. What is sad is that where natural parents cope with any situation, adoptive parents are quick to blame the child for any behaviour problem and in some cases even hurt it. In many instances adopted children move from foster homes to foster homes, each scarring the child forever. No one seems to accept the fact that adoption is a life long commitment no matter what!
When little Y was born, he seemed a ‘fit’ case for adoption as his was the most dysfunctional family I had ever come across, and though we do not delve in adoption, in his case we were tempted to do so. A family came forward, the legal procedure was undertaken and as per the law the adoptive family was given guardianship and the stage was set for the child to leave. Thank heavens that did not happen, as the adoptive family found another child and decided to simply walk away from this one. We were horrified at that moment and very angry but in hindsight this was perhaps the best thing that could have happened as had the child left, he might have landed in yet another foster home. In a few weeks little Y will pack his bags for another journey as he sets out to join his pals in boarding school. He will get what he needs most and what will set him truly free: a sound education. Believe me, we have struck the word adoption from our lives and replaced it forever with education!
Children are not commodities to be sold and abused to make a few bucks. They are not spare parts or temporary articles used to fulfill some need or the other and then locked or cast away, or easy prey to satisfy pervert desires. Children are the gift of God and need to treated as such with love, care and profound respect.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Mar 15, 2010 | Uncategorized
I remember the day when I first met Sanjay. It must have been 8 years or so ago and he must have been 14. We had just begun teaching a primary class at the Lohar Bati, gypsy camp, located next to our first centre. Sanjay and some of his pals, who had all dropped out of school, use to hang around our open air class, mesmerised by the foreign volunteers who sometimes taught classes. After some time we suggested they too come and join and some did, Sanjay was one of them. Little did I know that one day the somewhat rebellious good looking kid would break all ceilings and walk the ramp.
But let us not jump the gun! Let me tell you Sanjay’s story as I know it. Actually it begins well before I met Sanjay. Like many of you who live in Delhi, I too must have passed by the umpteen Lohar camps strewn across the city and never really looked at them, certainly not with my heart! It is only when we opened an outreach programme in what is called the Janata Jeevan camp, that I had to walk by the Lohar camp situated next to the Kalakaji bus depot. The sight and plight of the small bright eyed children running about and breathing if not choking on the fumes of cars revving up at the red light caught my attention and I decided to do something. The first thing that came to mind was to start a small creche and a primary section. Now Lohars, like all gypsies, are proud people, and not one to accept charity of any kind. We met Tau, the head of the camp and explained what we wanted to do. He immediately saw the wisdom of our request and accepted it. There was an open space behind the camp and that is where it all began.
As months passed, I found myself often heading towards the camp and spending time there, imbibing the rare wisdom and sagacity of these proud people. Somehow being with them was a way of stepping off the spinning world and recharging my batteries! They always had a cup of tea ready for me if not a hot hand slapped roti. I also discovered to my horror that they had been living on the pavement for 30 years though they had been promised rehabilitation by the government. I decided to do something and urged them to file a PIL in the High Court. Sadly nothing came of it and they continue to live with the Damocles sword of destruction hanging over their heads. Sadly again we had to discontinue our classes because of the authorities. We hope to be able top resume them again soon.
In the early days of our work there, I use to spend time with the children and often asked them about their dreams. They use to share them with me and they were often small and simple ones. I urged them to dream big, very big and to hold on the dream, because dreams had sometimes an uncanny way of coming true! I remember the older boys standing in the background and listening to what I had to say. I guess Sanjay was there too, but he never then shared his dream with me, though he joined classes and went on to complete his schooling. Geeta our creche teacher was Sanjay’s elder sister. When she got married she requested us to give her job to her brother as they needed the money. We did though I recall telling him that with his looks he should become a super model. I never knew my words would be prophetic.
Sanjay has been teaching primary children for the past 5 years. His gentle ways and his boundless patience have made him a great favourite with the children. And for me the simple fact that this almost drop out gypsy boy became a teacher was something to be terribly proud of. And that is why when Camille Ponsin, a reputed French documentary maker wanted a ‘story’, I thought the one of the pavement born gypsy boy turned teacher was one he should go for. I was far from knowing that it would become a fairy tale, where seemingly impossible dreams come true.
The filming began and all seemed on track. One day Camille called me and told me that Sanjay had shared his real dream on camera: that of making it to Bollywood. At first I just smiled. Was this not the dream of every kid in the land, the one that sustained you through your darkest hours? I must admit I let it pass. Then another call informing me that Camille had a possible entree into the hallowed land, someone that could perhaps make this crazy dream happen. He wanted to take Sanjay to Mumbai and simply take it from there. The rest is now history. Last Sunday Sanjay walked the ramp for a top designer and did it with flair and aplomb.
It is with immense pride that I read the next days papers. I was tickled pink by Sanjay’s answer to a journo who asked him if he was nervous: “Chalna hi toh hai. Do saal ki ummar se kar raha hoon (All I have to do is walk. I’ve been doing that since I was two). His words reflected the spirit he was born with, the one that is the heritage of one who belongs to a proud people who have roamed for centuries without fear. Reading those words I knew that no matter what lay ahead, Sanjay would take it in his stride, whether it was walking ramps or simply walking the road of life.
My thoughts went back to the day when I had jokingly told him he should become a super model. I wonder if the God of Lesser Beings was listening.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Mar 10, 2010 | Uncategorized
Meet Agastya and Utpal the two little men of my life. Just like the Little Prince they landed into my existence when I least expected them and yet most needed them. One came when I was going dealing with personal demons and needed to rediscover myself and test my own limits and the other when I needed to be reassured that time was still on my side.
When I first set eyes on Utpal he must have been a little under a year. At first he was just another little toddler, one that I hoped would become one of the pwhy kids. Little did I know what was in store for both for us. A few days later Utpal had his tryst with fire and somehow our destinies changed forever. I next saw him, swathed in ugly bandages and moaning in pain. He looked at me with his huge eyes and I knew that life would never be the same. That is the moment he walked into my heart and tucked himself there forever. He taught me to smile in adversity. He taught me that nothing was hopeless, you just had to find the right door and walk through it. He became my source of strength and my little ray of sunshine, that shone the brightest on dark and cloudy days. Today we have both grown. The little child has become a young boy and his Maamji a little older and a tad wiser, or so she would like to believe!
Then entered Agastya, my little grandchild and it was love at first sight! Simply holding him was enough to want to live many morrows. Life seemed enticing again. One wanted to see his fist step, hear his first laugh and just see and help him grow. Somehow the bones creaked less, and the gait became lighter as time seemed to still be on my side. I was blessed with two wonderful little men having special places in my heart.
Last week they met and bonded. I guess they both knew they shared one common thing: the love of a dotty old woman! I watched in silence, my throat hurting and my eyes moist, and mouthed a silent thank you, to the God of small children.
